


Poisoned Illusions

by RealtaCuardach



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 5x02, Drunk Merlin, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:43:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RealtaCuardach/pseuds/RealtaCuardach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gwaine went looking for Merlin, he wasn't expecting to find a bitter man drowning his sorrows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poisoned Illusions

Merlin was nowhere to be found.

Gwaine had looked up and down the castle in search of him, but he was nowhere. He asked anyone who stood still long enough if they had seen the king's manservant, but no one had. Arthur and Gwen had seemed perturbed at the news, but the visit of a diplomat distracted them from hunting Merlin down, and so Gwaine took on the task for himself.

He checked the tavern, more out of habit than out of any expectation of finding him there, and was shocked to hear that someone who looked very much like Merlin had come into the tavern earlier. The man had been almost sullen, purchasing a large jug of ale before leaving into the darkness of evening.

Sullenness did not sound like Merlin, but Gwaine was out of options, and he followed the direction of the barman's finger into the forest.

Gwaine heard the cracking of a flames and a dark mumbling before he saw the fire.

Merlin sat rigidly beside the flames, staring blearily and unblinkingly into its depths, his jacket in a heap beside him. He stopped muttering long enough to take a swig from the heavy clay jug. Merlin swayed dangerously forward, his forehead nearly touching the smoldering wood.

"Merlin!" Gwaine yelled, bursting out of the trees. "Be careful!"

The ale-sodden manservant pulled back from the flames complacently and looked at his friend in a dazed but irritated way. "What do you want?" he nearly slurred.

The hunched figure weaved slightly in the light of the flames, and Gwaine stared down at him. "You're drunk!"

"Does that surprise you?" Merlin hiccupped, somehow making the sound sharp and bitter. "Shocking that such a lightweight can manage to be such a millstone around your neck, isn't it?"

"Millstone around our-" For once, Gwaine was at a loss for words.

"Not good for much, am I?" Merlin snorted, "I can clean up and cook for all of you, but if it comes down to it, you can do without me."

"What?"

Merlin shrugged. "It's the truth." He took a sloppy swig from the jug, ale sloshing over the sides and soaking his face. His neckerchief absorbed the liquid and hung limply about his neck. With a detached care, Merlin unfastened the fold of material and stared at it for a moment before flinging it into the dying flames.

The sudden rush of fire sent Gwaine reeling back, although Merlin remained militantly in place. "Merlin, what's wrong?"

"Wrong?" Merlin said, "Why would you think anything's wrong?" He glared at the stone jug. "I finally am seeing things as they are for the first time."

Merlin's sluggish movements became rapid and nearly violent as he raised the mug of ale over his head and then sent it crashing down into the flames. Flames and alcohol and pottery shards flew in all directions, and Gwaine ducked, cursing in shock.

"Don't worry," Merlin grumbled, not taking his eyes from the flames, "I'll clean it up."

"You think that's what I'm worried about," Gwaine nearly yelled, "I'm more worried about you then some bloody alcohol, mate!"

If Merlin had been more sober, the impact of that might have been more humorous or hard-hitting. As it was, he weaved more from side and side and struggled to focus on Gwaine as he sat down. "Come on, Merlin," Gwaine continued, his voice becoming more pleading, "tell me what's happened. What are you doing here?"

"Is it so much that I want some time alone?" Merlin asked bitterly, staring at the flames, "Besides, I've been this way plenty of times before."

"Drunk?" Gwaine asked.

"Alone," Merlin replied flatly, "You know how often I risk my neck for you? How often I have to go through the same hell as you do when we fight? You know how terrifying it can be for me to see all that blood and feel all that pain?"

"Merlin-"

"It doesn't matter if you do," Merlin glared, and then hiccupped, "because you still leave me alone anyway. Everyone notices if Arthur is gone, or a knight is gone, and I understand that. Lot more important than an idiot manservant." He picked up a stick and began prodding the fire with it. "I just figured…I'd be missed a little. That … I would be looked for, or at least noticed that I was gone." He snorted bitterly, "But I was wrong, no one gives a d-"

"Merlin," Gwaine interrupted, forcing his friend to look at him, "we do care. You're important to us."

Merlin drunkenly shook his head and pulled free of Gwaine's grip. Gwaine continued, "Mate, I'm sorry. I wish – why didn't you tell us earlier?"

He looked over at his friend, only to see him slumped on his back, snoring lightly. Gwaine stared pensively at Merlin for a few moments before returning his gaze to the fire. He wished that he had the right words to say to Merlin, words that would make his friend see how wrong he was.

It was true in the heat of battle that they could lose track of Merlin like they would any other comrade, but that he could never be forgotten. That they felt in Merlin the presence of a brother, and his loss would be felt acutely. But he also wanted to say that he knew Merlin was far from weak…that although he would worry about Merlin when he was in danger, he never worried that his friend couldn't pull through it. For a reason, that he couldn't explain, he had the belief that Merlin, more than anyone, could emerge triumphant from any struggle or disaster. That Merlin was the strongest, best friend he knew.

He couldn't say of these things. Instead, he stoked the fire, fetched some water for the roaring headache he would have the next morning, and sat down beside his friend. Gwaine pulled off his long cape and draped it warmly over Merlin before folding his arms around his legs and settling down for the night.

He would be there when the fire burned into embers and when Merlin blinked blearily into wakefulness the next morning with a roaring headache and no memory of what he'd said. In the morning, he knew he still wouldn't have the words he wanted to say.

But he would still stay by Merlin, and show him that he was not alone.


End file.
